


watch you crawl through the flames

by MephiPruz (Mephitztopheles)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bounty Hunters, Bounty hunter - John Marston, M/M, Outlaw - Arthur Morgan, Slow Burn, graphic depictions of injury, graphic description of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 02:42:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18791356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mephitztopheles/pseuds/MephiPruz
Summary: John Marston is a young but skilful bounty hunter.In his journey, he heads to New Austin where he gets wind of a gang causing big troubles further East. When he catches up to Arthur Morgan, he expects to meet a cold-blooded murderer and a relentless thief but instead, he finds a man that leaves him questioning his view on what he does best. Things just only get worse when he ends up owning him a great debt.





	watch you crawl through the flames

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this story in my head for months now and since I have more free-time to finally write it, here goes nothing. I've not published anything in years let alone in English, this is my first work in a foreign language, please excuse the mistakes you'll find.
> 
> The rating, as well as tags, will probably change as I add chapters but I just don't want them to spoil anything of the story. Just keep in mind the warning, I'm not shy at writing violence so yeah... If anything is added or changed, I'll make sure to notice you!
> 
> The story is set at the same time the game is, everything that the gang does might be implied but it's never the main subject of things. I'll probably take some freedom as to the timeline of events, so don't be surprised.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

i.

The morning air was cold, humid and a drastic change from the heated deserted lands John had just left behind. Even under his coat, he could feel the chill reaching into his bones, crawling its way under his skin and making him shiver. The mist hovering around tall grass and thin trees made it difficult to see but following the trail now was easier in the forest than what John had been through in the desert.

 

He sighed, exhausted, creating mist of his own with his warm breath.

 

He didn’t know which climate was worse. It seemed like he was born for none.

 

These new surroundings were strangely quiet which surprised the young man. His right hand resting on his thigh, he was ready to draw his firearm if anything was to jump on him; old habits of surviving on his own for so many years.

 

This is not the worst he had ever experienced however, he will manage. His horse was a resilient beast; he would hold on until they both arrived safely in town.

 

 

 

ii.

Strawberry was small but charming none the less. It was nothing like John had ever seen before.

 

It was a nice change of scenery from what he had travelled through these last few weeks. The sun had finally pierced through the thick grey clouds making the river flowing through the town sparkle. Its soothing and regular melody fell in perfect rhythm with the noises coming out of the street.

 

The local butcher shouted for sales whilst John made his way further into the city. One look at the stand and he was tempted to buy some real meat for himself. That deer hanging upside-down made him salivate just by briefly glancing at the crimson venison meat. He had eaten nothing but cans, only one meal per day for the last few days. He could feel his body shaking, primer instincts awaking, craving flesh to sink his teeth into.

 

Unconsciously, his hands tightened around the reins of his mount bringing them closer to his abdomen. In response, the bay horse crooked his neck awkwardly and slowed his pace from the sudden command making his hooves sank deeper into the mud. John just sighed loudly, gaining back some control over himself. He opened his palms, his fingers loosening their grip on the leather reins to give back some freedom to the animal. He bent over putting weight on his toes firmly secured in the stirrups, patted the horse’s neck whispering an apology close to his ears.

 

“Sorry partner, we’re almost there,” he murmured softly. “You’ll get your treats as promised.”

 

 

 

iii.

The main road was narrow which made it difficult to manoeuvre around the wagons and civilians but soon enough, John ended at the porch of a building offering rooms to rent. The price was not cheap and rather high compared to what he would usually go for but after spending so much time camping out in the wild, all he wished for was a soft bed and fresh sheets. The man inside, sitting behind a desk suddenly stood up when John walked in, spurs echoing loudly, breaking the silence of the room. The man’s face dropped when he eyed him up and down judging his poor appearance. John could only imagine what the older man thought.

 

He looked miserable, smelled terrible too.

 

The whole room looked fancy and nicely put. The man was of old age but dressed sharp, he blended perfectly into the surroundings. He greeted John with a fake smile and rested both his hands on the desk. That furniture was heavy priced wood and polished to shine, it showed just how much superior the stranger wanted to be compared to John and other customers.

 

Being the centre of attention, John felt completely out of place and at a loss of words but he quickly recovered. He had faced dangerous men and got out of situations that seemed desperate before, surely a mere distinguished man was nothing he should be threatened by.

 

John nodded while looking at a small sculpture of a squirrel resting next to a leather bonded journal, tons of papers and a fountain pen. He tipped his hat as a greeting and stopped at a safe distance from the desk. He stood his ground, his back straight and tall.

 

“I’d like to rent a room for two days, sir.”

 

The old man went to straighten his posture too as if he was accepting John’s challenge.

 

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” he articulated putting his hands behind his back. “You see, we hold _standards_ here that might not fit your…” He made a pause, agitating his right hand around pondering on the perfect word that could describe John.

 

“Your _humble_ person,” he added finally.

 

John let out a dry chuckle and scratched the back of his neck trying to hide his sudden anger. He usually didn’t mind being insulted. After all, he had met his fair share of fools trying to ridicule him more than once, drunk or not. Only this time, he couldn’t just respond with a punch or a bullet. He had to fight back with wits, words. Something he preferred to avoid given his lack of skills regarding communication. He could just walk away too, set his tent far away from the town and embrace a night by the warmth of a campfire. The stars had to be beautiful near those mountains if the clouds would allow it.

 

However, John wasn’t one to give up a fight before it even started.

 

He knocked one of his heels on the floor as if it was to demonstrate the punch he was holding back, something a wild horse would do to show its dominance. It startled the older man making his whole body stiffen. The sound of spurs was suddenly louder, heavier than before when John closed the distance between him and the large desk. His pace was slow and calculated emphasizing the threat their noise held. The man nearly tripped over his chair when he walked backwards trying to get away from John’s murderous glare. His hands were raised up as a sign of his surrender.

 

He tried to apologise but John cut him off before a word could escape his mouth.

 

“Listen friend,” he began, sighing and putting both his hands carefully flat on the polished furniture. His dark eyes were piercing through the man’s skull, one of the only weapon allowed in this battle. “I’ve got money, alright? I’m not here looking for trouble so you’re going to be a nice host to me and just give me a room. No one gets hurt.”

 

The man turned paler than he already was. He glanced down at John’s revolver safely holstered on his side then back to his face. Even if he understood how dangerous John could be, he still tried to find another excuse.

 

John didn’t give him the opportunity to do so.

 

John acted fast and with dexterity. He reached for his knife, his slender fingers wrapping around its handle and stabbed a book left open on the desk with force. The receptionist whimpered as if he was the one hit, his back colliding with the wall.

 

“I’ve spent the last two weeks riding and getting shot at,” John snarled almost growling. “I think it’s best if you don’t get on my nerves, _sir_.” His last word was merely added to be polite but it was spat out with so much distaste that it could pass as a swear.

 

“Alright!” The man yelped, accepting his loss. He went to grab the key to a room behind him and nearly threw it on the desk, still keeping a safe distance. “The room is upstairs, 2A!”

 

“Glad to see we found an understanding,” John jested with a sly smirk, satisfied.

 

He took the knife out of the book, sheathing it back in its place and picked up the iron key from the desk. He put it in one of his pockets before reaching for some money in his satchel.

 

The man’s eyes widened when he saw the amount of bills John took out of it but didn’t dare to comment on it. His instincts screamed at him to hold his tongue, he surely didn’t want to suffer John’s wrath nor to test more of his patience. He took a deep breath before allowing himself to relax a bit now that the knife was gone and out of sight.

 

John left five dollars in exchange for his lodging.

 

“Where do I find the stables around here?” He asked, eyeing the man’s behaviour with squinted eyes. The folded bills were gone as fast as they were taken out, back into his bag. “My horse needs tending.”

 

The man looked down at the money on the desk, he was about to take it but he stopped himself when his eyes noticed the hole in the book left by the knife. He blinked a few times before regaining his composure.

 

“Out of town. Follow the trail south and at the first crossing go right.” The older man responded quickly, hoping that now John would leave.

 

But John wasn’t done with him just yet.

 

“Didn’t see any saloon going through town. You got it hidden that same way too?”

 

“We-” The man made a pause, swallowing to stop his voice from shaking. He nervously tugged to his sleeves, afraid he might upset John some more. “Strawberry doesn’t have a saloon, sir.”

 

John frowned, confused by such a statement. That was just his luck. He had been to strange places before but a town without a saloon was a first.

 

A sacrilege.

 

Saloons had always been places to meet up, have a drink and chat with friends, enemies and strangers. A town without such place sounded surreal to him. It was like having a living being without its heart like it was missing its key point to function properly. This could only lead to undiscovered secrets, raw lies and blunt deceit.

 

A heartless town then. That’s exactly what he needed right now.

 

John relied a lot on others when it came to his job. Most of the information he gathered was from lawmen and strangers he found in saloons and other places to drink. His years of experience made it easy for him to tell the difference between genuine information and drunk mumblings but with no information whatsoever, he was just lost in a never-ending ocean looking desperately for land.

 

John pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. An unwelcomed frustration settling in his whole body, tensing his muscles already sore over his long voyage.

 

“What do you mean there is no saloon? Where does one go for a drink then?”

 

“Oh don’t you worry sir. We provide the drinks!” The receptionist exclaimed as if it was the obvious course of things. He suddenly was more relaxed, happy to sell out the services of his establishment. “If you wish to eat or drink, anything at all, you just need to notify me or the maid. We will make sure you’re served as fast as possible.”

 

John just stared at him for a second before sighing loudly, losing every will to fight. His shoulders now slack, he allowed himself to let his guard down. His gloved hand went to scratch his left cheek but he frowned doing so, not used to meet such thick irritating beard. He slowly looked down on the floor noticing just how clean it was compared to his used and worn out boots. They were once ebony black but the mix of beige dust and sand, as well as the dry and wet brown mud, gave them a new set of colours.

 

He needed a bath and a long night rest, that was certain.

 

He wanted to comment on what made this town so special to deny men a place to gather, share, fight and bond but he chose to not mutter a word, he was too tired for this. These people held different _standards_ here. They were too high and mighty to bother themselves with drunk fools, whores and gambling.

 

John was from this _world_.

 

Sort of.

 

All these came naturally to him; they were a part of him no matter how much he tried to distance himself from them. Too many brawls, too much money won and lost, too many whores as well. John was everything this town seemed to run away from. No matter the town or the state, John always ended up in a saloon nursing a cheap glass of whiskey so bitter and bad that piss would be a better treat. That suited him just fine, that was how he always had done things. If he was in the mood to drown his sorrow he would order the bottle and if he was there to celebrate he would share it with whoever he could found.

 

He suddenly came to realise just how far he was from his home. From a difficult childhood, he wished to forget.

 

But John was never really a child. He was denied it the very moment he was born.

 

A life for a life.

 

When he drew breath for the first time, he unwillingly made a pact with the Devil through blood and tears, damning himself to a scornful life. A killer, living an eternal life filled with guilt and remorse. He lived raw and rough, that’s the only way he knew how to survive in a world that was never kind to him. An invisible rope enveloping his neck like a warm embrace reminding him of just how fragile his existence was. One misstep and he would be falling, suffocating around it.

 

John made a lot of missteps so far, but every time he found his balance back. A true artist, always escaping his end even in desperate times.

 

He never knew what his mother looked like, never got a photograph to remember her by. She was his first faceless victim before all the others that followed. He supposed he should also blame his father’s death on himself. His face was nothing but a blur now, a long forgotten memory.

 

A distant voice brutally brought him back from his reverie. He looked up to find the older man staring at him waiting for his response. He almost seemed worried to see John escape to another realm leaving only an empty shell for display.

 

“Excuse me?” John asked light headed, his mind still blurred and lost in his thoughts.

 

“Do you wish for a meal to be prepared for you?” The receptionist repeated once more avoiding more conflict by not making any comment on the matter.

 

“Sure,” John mumbled, embarrassed to be seen in such a vulnerable state. “Could you prepare a bath as well? I should be back in about half an hour or so. I’ll pay if it cost more than what I gave you.”

 

“Of course, sir! It’s no trouble at all,” assured the older man putting on a fake smile. “Your bath and meal will be ready upon your arrival.”

 

John thanked the man before making his way out of the establishment, relieved to finally take the escape route. He thought of his poor horse still waiting on him outside, hurt and definitely in need of rest just as much as he did. He had to focus on his well-being now that his own personal needs were to be taken care of later. He only needed to remove most of his belongings out of the saddlebags and off the animal so he could move everything up in the room and then, head for the stables.

 

“Do you need any assistance with your luggage?” The older man asked making him stop half way.

 

“No need. I’ll be fine, thank you.”

 

John went to open the door but he was interrupted, again.

 

“One more thing!” The man chanted across the room, louder than necessary. He was quick to close the damaged book and moved it aside so he could grab a bigger one. He turned a few pages until he found the right one where he was to write the information. “I also need your name for the ledger, Mister…”

 

“Marston," he announced turning away from the door to look at the older man.

 

"John Marston.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, any comments, reviews and critics are welcomed! ♥


End file.
